A moonbeam in your hand
by Shamelessly Radiant
Summary: Maria is the one that puts his family back together, and at the end and beginning and in between everything he loves her most of all because she loved his children first. But not at first; of course not. (Or; Georg falls in love with Maria slowly and all at once- it just takes a while, music and honesty.)


Before Maria; and that's the thing, isn't it, because before Maria he never thought there would be another one that would divide his life in a _before_ and _after_ but then, there she is.

Oh, she makes an impression, that's for sure, but only in the way he thinks— _great, now that I've found a governess that maybe will stay, I'll probably have to fire her._ And he is both right and wrong about her, and isn't that the whole point of _Maria._

Because when she leaves, well, nothing is the same again. And it is true because when _before_ there were whistles and marches, and _in between_ there was singing, and laughter and Maria, Maria, _Maria_ ; _after_ there is—

Well.

There is something he cannot quite put his finger on, but there is something that is not quite right—there is everything that is wrong.

He tells Elsa she is his saviour, and he does not lie. But he mistakes this for love; or no—he wants so badly to believe this to be love that he tells himself that this is just as it was with Agathe, simply with a more sophisticated woman.

Because Elsa breathes sophistication, Elsa is charming, witty and glamourous. Elsa is beautiful. Elsa is blond hair in a careful updo, make-up always in place, stunning dresses; his saviour. He means _distraction_ , he means _escape_ ; he does not mean _the one who put me back together_ because she didn't, not quite, not completely: she is his reason to stay away instead of his reason to come home.

But Maria is the one that puts his family back together, and at the end and beginning and in between everything he loves her most of all because she loved his children first.

Not at first, no, of course not; at first she is a nuisance, an inconvenience. At first she is the only thing available, because his children have scared away everyone else. At first, she is temporary, a girl meant to be a nun, a far too outspoken person for his liking.

"You may call me _captain_ ," he says; he means _discipline,_ he means _respect_ , he does not mean _I run this house like a ship_. (He means _detachment_ and _I'm running away from everything that reminds me of_ _ **her**_ _.)_

Maria is defiance. He tells her: "Yes, and I am their father." He means _they're ours, they're mine; they are not_ _ **yours.**_ He means _I will do what I very well please._ He does not mean _I didn't know they were still afraid of thunderstorms._ He does not mean _why didn't they come to me?_ Because he knows, or _should_ know but leaves for Vienna instead; and does not see yet how she has wrapped the children around her finger already and what will inevitably come to be between all of them.

He brings Elsa home, meaning to marry her. But before this, and in a way _before_ Maria; or at least before Maria for him because his children are already in the phase between _before_ and _after_ and never wanting an _after_ —before he decides he will marry Elsa, everything changes.

He calls her _captain._ He thinks this to be a mistake, he thinks himself to be caught up in the argument. He means _never has a woman spoken to me like you_ , he means _respect_ ; he means _you run this ship better than I ever could._

She tells him the truth, slaps it in his face, but he refuses to _see_. His children laugh and laugh, soaked and wet and they keep smiling until he pulls out the whistle. (That stupid whistle).

He fires her on the spot, naturally, always knowing it would come to this. He is angry and resents her and he does not want to see.

And then; _then—_ they start singing.

"Don't go away," he whispers, after he has found them again. He _sees_ them, all of them, he _loves_ them. He means _don't go away._ He means _stay with me always._ He means _give me a second chance._

"You brought music back into the house," he tells her. His voice is filled with wonder, his heart is filled with joy; this is the first time he remembers how it used to be without his heart threatening to tear him apart from inside out. "Fräulein, I want you to _stay_. I'm asking you to stay," he corrects himself then, and when she smiles, it is like seeing her for the first time.

He means exactly what he says: _you were right. I don't know my children._ He means _thank you._ He does not mean _I love you;_ at least not yet, but he does mean _you brought them back to me._ Or maybe; _you brought me back to them, you put me back together, I love the way you love them._

What follows is magic, what follows is music, what follows is _Maria._ She becomes stolen glances, she becomes a skip in his chest, she becomes making everything right again. But he does not admit this to himself, not yet, because while their shared glances become longer and their smiles softer there is Elsa.

Later, after Maria leaves and then comes back Elsa will tell him goodbye with a kiss pressed to his cheek and an "Auf wiedersehen, darling." She will look beautiful and elegant and heartbroken. She will tell him she needs someone that needs her money desperately and he will think, will almost say _you deserve the world._ But he will not. Because she asked him not to say another word, because he will not let himself break her heart more than he already has, because she saved him in so many ways and he cannot forgive himself for breaking his promise.

But he tells her the truth. He tells her that he is being dishonest to the both of them and he tells her that he is being utterly unfair to her. He knows there must be more to the story of Maria leaving; thinks he knows where Elsa went the split moments he could not find her—he does not reproach her this; just as he does not reproach her not quite loving his children. He was hers first, and he should have been hers, and how it must have hurt her watching him fall in love with someone else.

"I do not belong here," she says. She means _I want to belong here so badly._ She means _I want your heart, but it does not belong to me anymore—maybe it never did the way it should have._

He lets her go before he confesses himself to Maria: Elsa does not deserve to be second choice. She deserves everything he cannot give her, and so he lets her go. If Maria refuses him, if he imagined the glances and the smiles and everything between them, at least Elsa will be free to find someone who loves her like she should be loved, and he will not marry her while loving someone else.

He lets her go and hopes she'll find happiness. He hopes they'll be able to remain friends, somehow, but he knows that this will probably never happen; or at least not for a while. (They will never see each other again, but they will keep writing each other letters their whole live long.)

And Elsa, ever graceful, gives him her blessing in the only and best way she can: "Somewhere out there is a lady who I think will never be a nun," she says and means _go find her._ She means _I know._ She means _I'm heartbroken and maybe a little bitter, but I want you to be happy._

Before this, there is healing. There is being so proud and so happy with his children; allowing himself to bridge the distance between them. When Maria tells him that they are his children he thinks _yes they are mine_ and this fills his heart with pride but he also thinks _no, that's not quite right, because they would never have done this without you_ _,_ and a quieter voice in his head adds _I would never have let them._

When he plays again for the first time in ages, it is because of Maria. It is for Maria. It is for his children. It is the last puzzle piece to fall back into place. Liesl says "I remember, father." She means _I never forgot._ She means _I missed you, I miss her._ She means _I noticed every change in excruciating detail and it broke my heart slowly and all at once._ This breaks his heart, too. Fräulein Maria asks him "please," and how can he say no to her?

Every time she enters the room he seeks her out, he watches her, he sings for her. Their gazes do not stray far from one another; but he does not realise yet, or does not want to see yet and he doesn't know how obvious they are being, and doesn't know if she is simply unaware.

Still, still he cannot help but be drawn to her; and when he finds her dancing with Kurt—well trying to—he sees again how much she loves them, how much they love her and so, he asks her to dance.

He dances with her, and starts seeing his life before and with Maria. He dances with her and remembers the pinecone, the way she brushed it off as rheumatism and subsequently wrapped the children around her finger with a few words—while ignoring him completely, of course—he dances with her and starts to see: he does not want to let her go.

"It seemed rather warm to me," Elsa says, her voice filled with a sort of quiet reproach and he is seeing and he knows it is not right so he does not look at Mari- _Fräulein_ Maria as he invites her to the table and yet he still knows that if she were any other governess he would have never let her join the party.

And then _; then_ she leaves. (Him).

"You left without saying goodbye, even to the children." He means _why didn't you say goodbye to me?_

"Why did you?" he asks. _How could you leave us? Me?_ He means.

"You are back to, uh, _stay_?" _You're not going to have a governess anymore,_ he had told his children just moments ago but here she is and _here she is_ and when she shakes her head he finally decides he will not let her get away again. She has become his world, and he intends to keep her.

He takes Elsa's hand as he watches her go inside and he knows it is almost time to say goodbye.

And after he lets go of his past, he goes to find his future.

"Well, nothing was the same when you were away… and it'll be all wrong again after you leave… and I just thought perhaps you might change your mind."

He means exactly what he says. He tells her he loves her. He means this, too.

Maybe it is a cliché; but not quite. Because when he kisses her, he does feel like their lips fit perfectly, but he does not feel as if their lips were made for one another—how could he? He had loved Agatha ever since he met her, had seven— _seven—_ children with her; he will never stop loving her, in some sort of way, but he has moved on. He has stopped mourning her, he has healed—truly, and it is all because of the angel in the blue dress standing across from him; loving him.

And, _oh_ he loves her, and his children love her and she loves them all and their house is love, love; _love_ and everything is perfect until... the war begins. Quietly, peacefully as Max claims. Horribly, disgustingly as his heart tells him. He rips a flag apart with his hands and wishes there'd be more he could do.

There is not. He will not serve the Reich. This, then, means the end to the peace he fought so hard to obtain.

He takes his children, his wife, his Maria; all of his favourite things—he sings: a goodbye to his country, a love-song, a farewell. They flee.

Maria grasps his hand after they ditch the car. With the warmth of her skin, her lovely bright eyes calling him back from his sorrows and the children surrounding them—and he means _our children_ just as he meant _I'm giving them a mother and I am giving you a family that loves you_ when he said "I do."—

He knows, he _knows_ and this knowledge fills his heart with joy just as the hills fill his heart with music; he knows that as long as they are together, they'll always be home.


End file.
